"She wouldn't do it," said Johnny. "Ruthie wouldn't attack her own husband."
"That's what it says. He is in der hospital," said Wulf.
"But she wouldn't do it."
"I heard you der first time."
There was nothing they could do until they got to Tammerfors, and that was still several hours away. Johnny had nothing to chew on but the handful of words on the Doghouse report. He had been over every single one and the wait was unbearable.
"What time is it?" said Johnny.
"It's ten minutes after I told you last," said Wulf. "Want to play again?"
Johnny toyed idly with a glacé cherry on the end of a stick. With the right pressure behind it, it could be driven through an eyeball into the brain.
"Okay," he said.
"I am spying," said Wulf, "with my little eye-thing, something beginning with der rune that is 'ess'."
The China was built specifically for the Vaara-Tammerfors-Mars route, which meant that the bulk of its interior was taken up with a series of themed bars, in steps below the "window" ceiling. Its owners knew that hicks would run riot the moment they came aboard, flushed with the chance to experience the latest pleasures of civilisation from closer to the Earth. The Vaarans prided themselves on the shuttle pub crawl, starting on the lowest level which served exotic lagers, and attempting to make it all the way to the topmost establishment with its overpriced champagne substitutes by the end of the trip. In search of the quiet life, Johnny, Wulf and the Gronk had climbed the steps to the relatively safe zone three quarters of the way up. If they went up too far they would be trapped in the drunken riot that would ensue when the inebriated occupants made it all the way. Not far enough and they would be stuck amid the fights as the lightweights gave up early and took out their frustrations on their fellow drinkers.
The sounds of rowdy over-indulgence drifted up from the lower levels. From the sound of it, two stag parties bound for Tammerfors had run into a tipsy hen party. Someone yelled "get a room" at someone else, but nobody bothered renting cabins for the relatively short Tammerfors run. Instead, the passengers sat in the huge drinking hall with the false view of the cosmos shining from above them. For a local from Vaara, starved of anything but moonshine and faulbrau, it was an alcoholic heaven.
The trio watched in silence as a timid girl reached the top of the stairs. Her pink dress was designed to show a lot of flesh, but had been ham-fistedly augmented with diaphanous strips of gauze - a clumsy attempt to hide low-rent skin grafts. She looked around her urgently, and all but sprinted towards the toilets.
"Someone has been to der fishy bar," observed Wulf. "Call me old-fashioned, but I like my food cooked."
"Mr Wulf?" asked the Gronk. "Is it seat? Is the word seat?"
"No," said Wulf. "Six of der clock, Johnny," he added, in the quietest whisper he could.
Johnny's glance darted forwards, reading the room in the mirror behind the bar. A glistening humanoid figure stumbled up the steps, trying and failing not to belch. The new arrival's skin was the red of a new-boiled lobster, his head almost bald, but with tufts of straggly hair combed and recombed, plastered across the wet pate. Tendrils of hair and folds of skin hung down from his face and chin, peppered with acne so heavy that Johnny could see the shadows cast by the larger volcanoes, even from the other side of the bar. A very large bottle that had once held champagne bounced from his hand onto the floor. He looked back at it as he swayed further into the bar, giggling apologetically.
"Squid," Johnny whispered in shock. "I spy..."
"Sick Squid," whispered Wulf. Both men reached for guns that weren't there. They had been locked away in the purser's safe until landing.
Squid stumbled into the bar, coughing up lumpy phlegm. He stopped between two tables and made several attempts to clear his throat. Then he licked his hand and smeared it across his forehead irritably. He cursed under his breath and looked up, seeing the Strontium Dogs at the bar.
He lurched towards the toilets in an unsuccessful attempt at stealth. He bumped into a table, swore under his breath, and dashed through the first available door. It swung shut behind him, displaying an icon of a matchstick figure, its shape augmented at waist level by a triangular skirt. The image was recognised all over the galaxy as a symbol of a female toilet, except on kilt-wearing New Caledonia, which just had to be different.
Johnny scowled into his drink.
"Squid's onboard," mused Wulf.
"And he's celebrating," said Johnny.
"On a vessel heading away from Vaara," said Wulf.
Wulf and Johnny stood up in unison.
"Gronk, stay here and watch our backs," said Johnny.
The Gronk wondered how it was supposed to do that, perched on a bar stool with its feet a metre off the ground. It meditated on how an unarmed furry thing could do anything except scream if trouble turned up. It wondered what kind of trouble Mister Johnny and Mister Wulf might have had in mind, as it watched them stride towards the toilet door in exaggerated slow motion. As shots of juddermine hit its system, the Gronk realised it was panicking.
Johnny was first through the door into the Ladies', his senses hit by a whirl of powder and pink: pink Formica, pink trimmings, and even pink rolls of paper. And like an ugly pink tumour in the middle of it all, Sick Squid himself, crouched over a sink and splashing himself with cold water.
"Fancy seeing you here," said Johnny. Behind him, Wulf leaned on the exit door, his arms folded.
"Johnny," said Squid with exaggerated joy. "How's it hanging, my old friend?" Sprays of spittle fountained from his lips with each sentence.
"Can't a girl get some privacy?" shouted a voice from a far cubicle.
The bounty hunters ignored it.
"Going somewhere, Squid?" said Johnny.
Squid pulled his wet head out from under the faucet, running his hand back through his few remaining hairs.
"You know the deal, Johnny," he said. "Duty calls. Other worlds. Other low-lifes to catch. That sort of thing."
"You seem in der very good mood," added Wulf.
"Yes," said Squid. "Yes, I, er... well times are tough with the clampdown. Not many gangs left and those that are are killing each other."
"So I hear."
"They say that Tuka's gone to ground! And, well, Alnitak's gang's disbanded so... you know," he swallowed uneasily. "I thought I'd, you know, go searching for... bounties..."
"In the girls' toilets?" asked Johnny.
"Johnny, Johnny," said Squid quickly. "We all have our crosses to bear. I need to keep wet at all times. Goes with the dodgy DNA. You know how it is."
Johnny grabbed Squid by the lapels and shoved him against the wall with a wet slap.
"I know you, Squid," he hissed. "You don't have a pot to piss in."
Squid thought about this for a moment.
"You're one of the worst bounty hunters I know," said Johnny.
"But Johnny," said Wulf behind him. "What about Simon der Hapless Boy?"
"Including Simon the Hapless Boy!" growled Johnny.
"That's a bit harsh," pleaded Squid.
"You're poor at legwork, you never get the leads..."
"I've had some bad luck, it's true," stammered Squid.
"You suck."
"Johnny, my boy, everyone knows you're the best. Everyone."
"We are not here for der points scoring," said Wulf.
"You're the man," said Squid. "Men," he added, hoping to mollify the Viking at the door.
"Didn't know you were on Vaara," said Johnny.
"I was just passing through."
"It's a warp terminus, Squid," said Wulf. "A dead end. Nobody 'passes through'."
Squid's eyes darted unhappily from the Viking blocking the door to Johnny's featureless eyes, mere inches from his own. Squid had never been this close before. He didn't know what it was like to stare into them, and feel them staring back. He felt the horrible wrench as they invaded him, a dizzy sensation as Johnny looked into his brain.
Squid's ink sac slackened in panic, drenching his trousers with black liquid. He choked back vomit at the thought of Johnny inside his mind.
The experience was no less repulsive for Johnny, as he pushed aside Squid's tawdry secrets. Squid tried desperately not to think of all the things that he wouldn't want a mindreader to see: the subscription to Water Sports, the incident with the dolphin. In suppressing them, he brought them clamouring to the fore of his consciousness.
"You're sick," hissed Johnny.
"Hey, Johnny, sick by name, sick by nature," laughed Squid weakly.
Even as he squirmed, Squid saw that his perversions and indiscretions were the perfect shield. With every frog-bath he recalled, his mind became more crowded. Johnny waded through a mental miasma of filth, and Squid kept him distracted. Squid gleefully remembered the quality time he'd once spent with a Scythian king toad, and in fact, he savoured it. He wondered what it would be like to go back for a repeat performance, and giggled to himself at the thought of what this thought would do to his telepathic inquisitor, no doubt revolting him even more, throwing him off the scent, keeping him from finding out about the-
"I knew it," said Johnny.
"It was him?" asked Wulf.
"You stole my car," said Johnny.
"No," said Squid. "No, not at all. I took it back to Bob's Autos. I thought it was los-"
"Those were my corpses, you sick little dog-fluffer." yelled Johnny. "They were mine!"
From the far cubicle came the sound of someone dropping a toilet brush in shock.
"Oh, were they?" said Squid. "I swear, I didn't know."
"We were in the bar for a minute, tops!" hissed Johnny. "You must have seen us arrive."
"Johnny," pleaded Squid with a gargle in his voice. "Please, you're hurting me."
"I'm not hurting you." said Johnny, letting go of Squid's lapels and taking a step back.
"You were, I assure you," said Squid.
"No, Squid," said Johnny quietly. "That wasn't hurting you."
Squid began to disagree, and Johnny punched him wetly in the face.
"Ow!" he blubbered.
"That's hurting you, Squid!" said Johnny, jamming the heel of his hand into a pink eye-socket. He jabbed Squid again - a swift slap to the other side of his face. As Squid bent down reflexively to cover his face, Johnny kneed him in the groin, and as he crumpled further, he kneed him again in the face.
The noise of crunching cartilage was even enough to make Wulf wince.
"Johnny..." he began.
As Squid fell sobbing to the floor, Johnny kicked him in the ribs. The mutant coiled into a ball, trying to ward off Johnny's blows, but Alpha kept kicking. The pleadings for mercy had long since stopped and now there was only the occasional whimper.
Wulf had had enough.
"Johnny!" he yelled, grabbing his companion by the shoulders. "Johnny! They were five dead guys. Barely worth four figures!"
Johnny managed one last parting kick, shouting down at the injured Squid as Wulf dragged him away.
"You stay the sneck away from my-"
"From our money!" bellowed Wulf, interrupting. "From our money!"
And with that he bundled Johnny out of the door and back into the bar.
"Want to tell me what that was about?" whispered Wulf as he steered Johnny across the floor. "Gronk, we are leaving!"
"Squid ripped us off!" said Johnny.
"You're drunk," said Wulf. "Stop looking for a fight."
"I nearly got killed," said Johnny, his words slurring. "We nearly got killed! They stole the Gronk and shot us up and we could have died out there."
Wulf produced a fold of paper creds from his pocket and peeled off two hundreds.
"And that snecker!" yelled Johnny, pointing back at the Ladies' for emphasis. "That snecker stole our snecking corpses."
The Gronk padded along behind them as they left the bar, having trouble following the conversation in slurred slow motion. Deep down inside the Gronk, its overworked judder gland was drip-feeding it a new batch of chemicals.
"You there," called a voice.
"Jävlar," muttered Wulf under his breath, turning to see the uniformed bulk of a ship security mook. Just one man, with Electronux still sheathed at his belt. Sure, Wulf could take him alone, but he didn't want any more trouble.
The guard came closer, his face red with the exertion of running up the steps from several bars below. Wulf guessed he'd been stationed in Doughnut Paradise for about six years.
"I got word there's a disturbance up here."
The man's mouth was all but hidden beneath a curiously shaped moustache. Wulf had seen a lot of them as a youth, when fellow Vikings concealed scars with elaborate facial hair. But the guard didn't look like the sort; he was hiding something else.
"Yes," said Wulf, carefully. "Someone in der Ladies'. Nothing to do with us."
"Is that so?" said the security guard, sizing up the two large men and the unknown white furry quantity that shivered behind them. His fingers twitched tensely on the Electronux and the nightstick at his belt. Both hands bore telltale white scarring along their outer edge. Someone had been born with twelve fingers.
"We left der money for our drinks on the bar," said Wulf, trying not to stare.
"You did?"
"We did. And a big tip."
"Really?"
"About a thousand per cent."
The guard looked back at the bar, noting the two paper hundreds fluttering in the aircon breeze, pinned down beneath a fragment of a metal ashtray.
"You know," said the guard. "The serve-bots don't take tips. They're not set up for it."
"Is that so?" said Wulf. "I guess that money will just sit there, then. Good evening, officer." They liked being called officer.
"You take care, now," said the guard, heading inside. He made a beeline straight for the bar - checking the toilets could clearly wait.
A few more steps took them into another drinking establishment, all shadows and leather sofas and self-conscious, groovy jazz.
"This will do," said Wulf.
"Nice," said Johnny.
Wulf steered Johnny onto a couch. The Gronk waited anxiously by his side, wringing two of its hands.
"This isn't about Vaara, is it?" hissed Wulf.
"He ripped us off," Johnny said quietly.
"Stop saying that," said Wulf. "We would have done der same."
"He needs to stay away. He needs to stay away from my-"
"From your sister?"
"That's our job," said Johnny. "We saw it first."
"Fair is der fair," said Wulf. "We'll get to her first."
"Squid won't be going anywhere for a while," said Johnny. "I made sure of that."
"Er... yes," said Wulf uneasily. "I noticed."
"And stealing my corpses was still a felony. He won't shop us."
Wulf slapped Johnny on the face.
"Wake up, Johnny," he said. "I have never seen you like this."
Johnny blinked in shock.
"Are you going to beat up every bounty hunter on Tammerfors?" hissed Wulf.
"If I have to," said Johnny.
"Johnny. Listen, I believe you, there is more to this than meets der eyes, yes. But you are in der conflict, yes? You are having der conflict of der interests."
"You snecking bet I am!" shouted Johnny, a little too loudly over the quiet jazz. A few patrons shot him huffy glances.
"We will get to her, and find out the truth, yes?" said Wulf.
Johnny nodded, slowly, his head seemingly unsteady on his neck. He flopped forward onto the glass table, his head coming to rest with a conspicuous thunk. There was silence for a moment, and then low snores began to wheeze through his nose. A slow river of saliva began to pool across the table from his open mouth.
"Mister Wulf," said the Gronk, tugging at Wulf's cape. "Is Mister Johnny all right?"
"No," said Wulf, with Scandinavian frankness.
NIGEL LESS
Tammerfo
rs was also known as a piercing shriek, truncated by a sudden slurp - "Home" in the language of its avian aborigines. One teetered past Johnny, its legs unfeasibly long and thin, seemingly bending in all the wrong places. It pushed a hospital gurney in front of it with stubby, uncooperative hands. It didn't look happy, but nobody from Tammerfors ever did.
"Are you sure this is der right place?" asked Wulf.
Johnny looked down at the foldout map.
"Maybe you are holding it upside-d-" Wulf began.
"I am not holding it upside down," said Johnny. The signs in the Tammerfors Central Hospital were in seven different languages. English was nestled snugly in between Spanish and something that looked like an accident with a Scrabble bag. The walls were giving Johnny a headache. As a rule, hospitals were painted in soothing colours. For reasons likely to have something to do with Tammerfors' indigenous inhabitants, the walls of Tammerfors Central were painted fiery red with fluorescent lime-green spots.
Wulf squinted at the sign. They had tried to find their ward from three different angles and kept ending up in Proctology. Tammerfortian signs indicated direction with something that looked like a swastika, which didn't help. It had taken Johnny twenty minutes to work out that the thirteenth floor was actually the ninth, thanks to the three-taloned Tammerfortian custom of counting in some bizarre variant of base six. Or was it base nine? Johnny could never remember.
"Stay with me, Gronk," said Wulf. "I don't want you getting lost."
He turned to see he was talking to empty air.
"Johnny," said Wulf. "We have lost der Gronk."
But Johnny was already out of view, having turned a corner in lighning speed.
"Wait," shouted Wulf, trying to decide which way he should go. Right now, Johnny and the Gronk were both posing a danger to themselves and others. Reluctantly, Wulf left Johnny to it, and went in search of the only member of the team that couldn't be trusted to punch its way out of trouble.
Ruthless Page 5
